


The Internet Needs to Know

by himitsutsubasa



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Buzzfeed, Clone Sex, Explicit Language, F/F, M/M, Self-cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2018-12-24 05:45:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12006312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/himitsutsubasa/pseuds/himitsutsubasa
Summary: "Would you sleep with your clone?"Dex slams his hands on the keyboard so hard, the chassis makes a cracking, complaining noise.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From this [awesome post on tumblr](http://himitsutsubasa.tumblr.com/post/164986330862/).

Dex is a great guy, a swell guy. He’s open to things like avocado and siracha and imitation crab (Okay, maybe not imitation crab) and various things that up until his freshman year were outside his comfort zone. He’s now comfortable (except the crab) and willing to explore. 

Except…

“I don’t want to fuck my clone because it would be gay sex and I’m not gay.”

Bitty poked his head in from the kitchen. “Dex, is everything okay?”

“I…” Dex waved at his computer screen and the Buzzfeed article that graced its LED’s. His “Fatal Error” background provided a complimentary environment for the post.

Eric stared, mildly startled. “Well, that is not what I expected.”

Dex gestured at the screen. “Bitty, you get it right? Okay maybe you don’t, but I wouldn’t fuck my clone. I’m a dude. My clone is a dude. It just wouldn’t work out.”

He gestured vaguely at various parts of his body as to express exactly how heterosexual he was and exactly how much of a man he was.

Eric sighed, carefully reading the page. “Not to worry, Dex. It looks like your clone is only as interested as you are.”

“GOOD.” Dex slammed his hand on the mouse, dragging the cursor over to his answer. 

Bitty left the room, and a very red Dex, to finish his pies.

* * *

However, much to Bitty’s chagrin, the thought kept tugging at him. So much so that he couldn’t help but wonder himself. 

His pot pies, and blueberry pies, in the oven, he opened the app to investigate. The poll was trending and everyone seemed to have an opinion. Was it ethical? Would it be incest? Who knew? No one knew. At this rate, they would have to call up an expert.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, Bitty?”

A hand clutched over his heart, Eric let out a sigh. Shitty. Then a light bulb went on. SHITTY.

Eric held his phone close to his chest. Honestly, who better to ask than the man who had strong opinions and well thought out answers to everything. And it wasn’t like Shitty wouldn’t have considered this before. 

“I have a question for you, now don’t you be makin’ fun of me for this.”

Shitty, so intrigued that even his mustache was intrigued, grinned lopsidedly. “What can I do for you?”

Bitty held out his phone. “Would you, ahem, sleep with your clone?”

Shitty read the screen, then leaned back, exhaling a slow whistle. “Well, that’s not something I’ve considered before.”

“Really?”

“No.” Shitty leaned in. “I’m not gay, but I would totally fuck my clone.”

“Shitty, there’s no need for such languge.”

“Alright, alright. As I see it, we are both consenting adults who understand what the repercussions would be. There are no repercussions other than finding out exactly how AWESOME I AM AT SEX. So I’m down.”

Thankfully, the kitchen timer spared Bitty from answering.

* * *

Bitty promptly regretted ever letting Shitty know about it. Between the timer going off and him setting the first pie on the cooling rack, Shitty had shared it in the Hockey Chat. 

Obviously, the debate was on and there were merits to all sides, he supposed. Each to their own and it wasn’t like it would affect his life in anyway. 

On twitter, his fans demanded an answer. He was tempted to ignore it, but the speculation ran rampant. He really didn’t want to see what they would come up with if this kept on. One of his followers, who was promptly blocked, kept posting pictures of people who looked eerily like him. He would have to set the record straight. 

Compose.

“I’m gay, but I still wouldn’t fuck my clone; that’s gross and weird.”

Tweet.


	2. Chapter 2

Dex wanted it to die at that, but apparently it wouldn't. It couldn't.

Shitty had the some of the new kids in a group. "Would you sleep with your own clone?"

Never could it just die and make him the happiest man on earth.

A few guys shrugged. Jack shook his head. 

Obviously Jack wouldn't, Dex thought. It would cramp the whole self-loathing thing he had going on. Yeah, gingers are soulless, not blind. Just like he knows Bitty and Jack are together.

Soulless. Not blind.

Chowder gave the group a big grin. "I'd totally fuck my own clone. I wanna know if I'm good in bed."

Californians. Such a weird bunch.

Lardo, appearing from where ever she appeared from, nodded. "I mean, who knows how to fuck me better than me? It would be totally awesome."

Art majors too. Weird as heck.

Shitty... did not seem to think so. Dex sighed. Gingers. Soulless, not blind. 

"What about you, Ford?" Lardo asked.

There was a small thump from somewhere in the locker room. God knows where she came from or where she was at the moment. The sound seemed to come from the cleaning closet. Her head popped out of, yes, the cleaning closet. She grinned. "I would totally do all sorts of weird things with my clone. I'd be embarrassed to ask anyone else."

Honestly, he didn't think anyone needed to ask the new gcirl because theater majors are also... Weird... As... Heck...

Well, at least she was honest about the weird things. Dex thought really hard about not thinking about the weird things.

* * *

 

Nursey, of course, because the universe wants Dex to die a million deaths over some dumb Buzzfeed post, has to ask at the dining hall.

"I, for one, would do it. Fucking my clone has always been my fantasy."

Of course it would be. Dex honestly didn't expect anything else from Nursey. The commons was serving some delicious crab chowder though, the mashed potatoes were to die for. Don't even get him started on the roast beef. 

You'd think he'd be tired of the commons, but when it tasted this good? The only thing it needed was PIE.

Holster thought for a second.... "It would be the same as masturbating right?"

Oh, no. Dex's head hit the table and though there is no reality in which anyone can hear someone be a smug son-of-a-hockey-puck, he swore he could hear Nursey being smug.

Ransom shook his head, stabbing his fork into his mashed potatoes. "Dude, don't even say that. It's not the same as masturbating. It would be like having sex with your identical twin."

YES. SOMEONE ELSE GOT IT. He raised his hand from the table. "Wrong. And... Bad. Wrong and bad."

Ransom pat his shoulder.

* * *

 

Dex wanted someone to murder him. With a hockey puck. Maybe a hockey stick, but that could really mess up the alignment and the strength of the wood. 

He had a pretty thick skull.

"What if my clone is evil?" Random person who was on the team, but literally no one remembered his name or who he was or if he had any weight on their lives. 

Well... Dex had to give him that. Valid thought. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

"Sir? Are you alright?"

Once upon a time, before Avi became the NHL's first dietitian/stylist/trainer/whatever-the-boss-needs, Avi skated. He remembered looking up to Bad Bob and when his son came along? Oh, boy, that was a day. Avi had wanted to skate next to him, make the team. Then he tore a tendon and that dream came crashing down. Now he wrangles a young man who wants and wishes to be free and treats everyone like trash along the way because he just can't be honest with himself long enough to see clearly. That didn't stop Kent from being kind, from wanting to help, from throwing money at groups like the ACLU and the National Hotline for Suicide Prevention as fast as he could make it.

"Would you fuck your own clone?"

Avi turned from where he was seasoning a salmon fillet. "What kind of question is that?"

Kent held up his phone. "It's this Buzzfeed quiz. Would you fuck your own clone?"

"I don't really think that's appropriate." Avi turned back to his baking tray. The asparagus needed some cheese to really bring out the flavors. He would add bacon, but Kent was only allowed to have bacon on special occasions. He popped the tray into the oven. The salad was already on the table and the mixed grain rice was ready to be served.

"I would," Kent said. His foot steps got louder as he approached. Funny how that stomping thing he did on the ice translated to the way he walked all the time. 

Avi turned around again, eye to eye with Kent. "What are you doing?"

"Not only would I have sex with my clone," Kent whispered. "I'd probably make a bunch of clones... and just... get it on with all of them... at once."

His lips twitched into a smile. 

"Because that's how pro-clone fucking I am."

Avi sighed. "Kent, that's impossible and inappropriate."

Kent deflated a little, shoulders dropping. "Fine."

Avi rolled his eyes as his client padded off to the living room. Another one of Kent's famous "I can't go out on the pull and Avi won't flirt with me" sulks.

"Want to know what's not inappropriate?"

"What?" Avi could only see the tips of Kent's mussed hair over the edge of the couch.

Avi paused for a second. 

Avi hadn't had his job long. To be fair, this job hadn't been around long. No one in the NHL really needed a personal wrangler, a dietitian yes, a trainer yes, a therapist definitely, but not a wrangler. Yet here they were and he was wrangling the guy who gave Jack Zimmerman a run for his money.

Kent Parson did a thing. Kent Fucking Parson, Stanley cup winner and darling of the damn National Hockey League, went on a two day bender upon being told that Jack Zimmerman was out. Kent Parson, god save his soul, drove a rented Spyder into a pool. Kent Parson followed up that two day bender with another one after finding out who the lucky guy was.

That's why Avi has a cushy job taking care of the guy who is most likely to dramatically flounce out of practice and drive a goddamn Porsche Spyder into a goddamn pool.

If Kent Parson woke up at the asscrack of dawn every morning, Avi was up at least an hour before that. Avi had some free time to do whatever the hell he wanted as long as he was able to pick Kent up after lunch or practice and take him home or pick him up randomly throughout the day to take him to various events. Avi drove him home at the end of the night, made sure Kent wasn't a ball of rage because Eric Bittle was just that cute, then went home to his own little apartment and tried not to dream about choking Kent Parson to death.

He didn't actually want to kill Kent Parson. He just wanted the kid to grow the hell up and get over it. It was 2020. Kent didn't need to, didn't have to, hide who he was and lash out when he saw other people were happier than he was. He didn't have to try to hide all the tall, dark haired, light eyed men. Avi saw them all and was the one who ushered them out. Not like any of those guys knew who Kent was, who he really was.

"Salmon fillets. Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes, but feel free to get started on the salad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go! End of story. Wanted to do a more interesting take on Kent and have that as a jumping off point for more writing.
> 
> Kent was a 2Y05 at Sephora. He liked Triple Sec dry shampoo for getting that soft, tousled look. (Though Parson had no idea how that actually happened. He just trusted Avi knew what he was doing. Spoiler alert, Avi didn't and had to ask girls at Sephora for help.) Avi was the one who would show up with a little tablet and rattle off what Kent needed to know about whatever foundation Kent needed to know about. (Though half the time, Kent knew what he needed to know already, and Avi felt a little flutter in his chest at how not-a-dick his client was.)


End file.
